Vengeance

08

Seraphim tucks her feet under her legs, running her hands over the edge of the kitchen counter. She stares at the cabinet in front of her, her face devoid of emotion. She shifts her gaze to the floor, where she picks out the imperfections in the cream squares. Around her is silence, heavy, unceasing silence.

Silence never used to bother her. Lots of things never used to bother her, but now silence is isolation, abandonment, death. These were things she never experienced before. Before, she had her job, Angel, friends. Now, her friends have betrayed her, she had to resign from her job, and Angel...Angel is complicated.

Her and Angel are but a whisper of who they used to be. They're strangers who were once all too close. It's wrong. Seraphim plunges a hand into her hair, tugging at the short strands. The memories are always there, taunting her. She tried to suppress them when she was recovering. She couldn't then and she can't now. He can barely stand the sight of her. She wonders sometimes if he can see through her facade. Is that's why he fights so hard or is it just a refusal to believe she's beyond saving. It's why he's dangerous, because he can make her believe, if only for a moment. That makes him dangerous. She could walk away from him, but she can't. She needs him. He's the eye of her hurricane, the calm in the storm. Her sanity. He unknowingly guards the last fragment of her humanity.

Seraphim exhales and unfolds her legs. Sometimes she wishes emotions came with a switch. Everything would be so much easier if she didn't have to feel anything. She could move through life unburdened, undisturbed.

Seraphim reaches for her phone, lying on the counter's corner. She flips it open, checking for a message from Angel. Nothing, but a couple missed calls from Alan. He's been calling everyday since she returned to Metro City. Seraphim has ignored every single one of them. She knows what he'll say. He'll only call Angel anyway. Let him deal with Alan.

Seraphim slips the phone into the pocket of her jeans and slides off the counter. It's Saturday, Angel will be at home. Seraphim goes into the bedroom to retrieve her jacket, before leaving.

***

One winding subway ride and a ten minute walk through the crowded sidewalk later, Seraphim is standing before the skyscraper that houses Angel. The glass totem seems to reach for the strings of milky clouds passing overhead. She glances at the glass doors, guarded by a pair of doorman. To enter that way would be to leave a record, one that could lead to Angel. She turns and ducks into the space between Angel's building and the neighboring skyscraper.

Seraphim looks around. Everyone is to engulfed in their phones to notice anything happening around them. She launches herself into the air. Seraphim soars along the building's outside, staring upwards to avoid the blinding glare of the sun reflecting off the glass. She drops down on the balcony outside the living room.

Seraphim opens the door and disappears inside. The early morning hour almost assures that Angel will be in the kitchen, hunched over a cup of tea. She heads towards the kitchen. As she predicted Angel is bent over the island staring at the cup of tea as steam rises up to graze his face.

Before Seraphim can utter a word of greeting, Angel stands up straight, bringing the mug to his lips. He turns slightly and jumps.

"Geez! Seraphim!" he exclaims, setting the cup down. Angel's senses are exceptional, having been honed after years of training, but anymore Seraphim moves like a ghost. "I wish you would say something." The anger in his voice is superficial and melts away before he utters the last word.

"What are you doing here?" Angel asks. "Aside from giving me a morning scare."

"Have you found Deathwave?"